


i remember when your head caught flame

by softlees



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, preppy!wonwoo, punk!seokmin, shit ensues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 21:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16395431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlees/pseuds/softlees
Summary: There is a commotion going on in the hall. Wonwoo doesn’t care, because he is apathetic to these sort of things. High school is, if not, a breeding ground for all things idiotic and stupid. He is above that. He is above dealing with things like that, or at least, he likes to pretend he is. There’s nothing like a good game (or maybe like forty) of Overwatch that won’t get him dumb excited. He is just another teenaged boy at the end of the day, after all.But that is besides the point. The point is, Wonwoo does not care about scuffles in the hall, because the most people get in is some mediocre hair pulling and subpar insults before the dean pulls them apart, and because it is only really just past second period. It is too goddamn early for a fight. Wonwoo still needs to get to his Physics C class before the bell rings.(or, the one where seokmin is a punk and wonwoo is trying very hard not to fall for his charm)





	i remember when your head caught flame

**Author's Note:**

> college kicked me and i struggled really hard to finish this best as i could but i couldnt nd im so sorry mods u all are the best im just suffering but here is punk!seokmin n preppy!wonwoo ft. lorde’s buzzcut season

There is a commotion going on in the hall. Wonwoo doesn’t care, because he is apathetic to these sort of things. High school is, if not, a breeding ground for all things idiotic and stupid. He is above that. He is above dealing with things like that, or at least, he likes to pretend he is. There’s nothing like a good game (or maybe like forty) of Overwatch that won’t get him dumb excited. He is just another teenaged boy at the end of the day, after all.

 

But that is besides the point. The point is, Wonwoo does not care about scuffles in the hall, because the most people get in is some mediocre hair pulling and subpar insults before the dean pulls them apart, and because it is only really just past second period. It is too goddamn early for a fight. Wonwoo still needs to get to his Physics C class before the bell rings.

 

Wonwoo catches a peep of a poorly executed undercut, shorn and shaggy and choppy, the harsh line of an aquiline nose, blood trailing down the side of a face from a shallow cut above an eye just over the crowd. He makes eye contact with these bits and pieces of a boy just for a split second, before he gets caught by the lapels and slammed onto the locker next to Wonwoo’s.

 

The boy surprisingly enough, does not care to make conversation with his attacker, and instead turns his attention to Wonwoo. “Hello,” he says, smirking and giving a little wave of his fingers.

 

Wonwoo decidedly does not pay attention to the glint of a ring on his fingers, or the way a tattoo peeks out from under his shirt, small and tiny and scrawled across the tips of a very nice collarbone. His mother would have an aneurysm if she knew just how close Wonwoo was to this punk boy.

 

“You seem a bit preoccupied,” Wonwoo sniffs primly as he places his books inside and takes another out. “I’ll let you deal with that.”

 

“I’m Seokmin!” is all that gets called out before there is a sickening  _ thwack! _ , a meeting of flesh upon bone, and a collective wince rumbles throughout the crowd. One girl triumphantly yells that she’s got the entire thing on tape, and the spell is broken, just like that — the crowd immediately swamps her instead, the bloodied boy laying on the floor, forgotten.

 

Wonwoo does not have to turn around to see it. He knows it hurts. But something in him tells him to whip around anyways, Mr. Kwon and Physics C be damned.

 

Well. Perhaps he's got some humanity left in him after all. It could also be chalked up to the fact that Wonwoo has never particularly cared for physics, but, you know, he digresses.

 

Upon closer inspection, Wonwoo notices several things: the boy is smiling even after getting punched rather hard in the face, his ears are surprisingly piercing free (save for one devastatingly attractive cartilage nestled in the top crook of his left ear, not that anyone's asking Wonwoo), and what he previously thought had been one ring actually turns out to be a collection of jewelry, from several thumb rings to a pair silver dogtags clinking around his neck.

 

He makes a mental note to burn the clothes he's wearing today after he gets home from school. Nevermind that this is his favorite shirt. His mother could probably pick off the absolutely criminal scent Seokmin exudes, and then promptly behead him at dinnertime. In front of Bohyuck, his little brother, too, no less. Something about the pheromones. His mother is scarily good at things like that, claiming she can  _ smell  _ puberty, though Wonwoo’s like 99% sure that’s a lie. He still won’t test it, though. For his own sake. 

 

Wonwoo peers at the blackening eye.

 

“Well,” he says, toeing Seokmin’s thigh. Dying on school property seems awfully heinous, and although it seems very  _ stick-to-the-man _ , a giant middle finger to the school itself and the higher ups that run it, Wonwoo ultimately decides that the process of it all isn’t very worth it. “That seems like it won’t be going away anytime soon.”

 

Seokmin groans from where he is on the floor. "You think?" He rolls onto his haunches, grimacing all the while, then looks up at Wonwoo. His gaze is surprisingly sharp, warm brown eyes flinty under the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway.

 

"Yeah." Wonwoo keeps his gaze level, unflinching, refusing to budge.

 

Seokmin quirks an eyebrow, grin wrangling itself from his mouth despite the way he winces at the pain. "I like you. You're very straight up.” He cracks his knuckles, sharp and biting, like the rest of his appearance. “Usually people run the other way when they see a boy like me.”

 

"Luckily for me, Physics C just so happens to be in your general direction." Wonwoo rolls his eyes. "Say anything else, and I'm going to punch your other eye.  _ Then  _ you'll have a pair to match."

 

Seokmin laughs. Wonwoo is loathe to admit it, but he likes the sound. It booms off the lockers and is utterly too bright for someone who seems so hellbent on looking like the opposite. 

 

"Like you'd have the strength to give me a black eye," Seokmin says instead.

 

Wonwoo splutters. "Excuse me?"

 

Seokmin hauls himself to his feet, darting forward and ruffling Wonwoo's immaculately gelled hair with his ring-laden hand before dancing out of his reach. "Look at you!" Seokmin says gleefully. "You're a toothpick.”

 

“Excuse me?” Wonwoo splutters, incredulous. 

 

“Yeah,” Seokmin laughs again. “Has no one ever told you that?” He squints at Wonwoo, then frames him with his fingers in a way that unsettles Wonwoo, as if he’s calculating whether or not he can heft Wonwoo over his shoulder. 

 

“Whatever you’re planning to do,” Wonwoo calls out, stepping back cautiously, “it’s not a very good idea.”

 

Seokmin drops his hands and gives Wonwoo a sheepish grin. “I never have any of those.”

 

A snort bubbles out of Wonwoo before he can help it, and Seokmin looks absolutely delighted by the sound of Wonwoo’s laughter echoing off the halls. 

 

“Wanna ditch third period with me?” Seokmin asks, eyebrows wiggling. He says it like a dare, frightening and beckoning all at once, danger glinting in his gaze. Wonwoo can’t back away from any challenge though, and he cannot quite tell if Seokmin knows it or it is just something written so clearly across his face. 

 

Wonwoo lifts his chin, shrugs his shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. 

 

“Sure. What’s the worst that can happen?”

 

Seokmin smiles, grabs his hand, and begins running.

 

Wonwoo thinks that this is most definitely the start of something else entirely — Seokmin’s hand is warm, rough, and calloused against Wonwoo’s own, something foreign but familiar all at once. 


End file.
